


The Moon

by freetheelves2



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-11
Updated: 2007-03-11
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8407660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freetheelves2/pseuds/freetheelves2
Summary: Hermione looked around herself nervously. She wasn’t familiar with this area, but the person who had sent her the note… well, familiar really wasn’t the word she would have used under any other circumstances.





	

Hermione looked around herself nervously. She wasn’t familiar with this area, but the person who had sent her the note… well, familiar really wasn’t the word she would have used under any other circumstances. She could only hope it wasn’t a trap – he hadn’t given her any reason to distrust him, and yet…

Although the war was over, those whose souls had returned to their bodies after Voldemort’s defeat remained ambiguously moral – after such a stay in Azkaban, anyone should have been. Either way, Hermione was well aware – former lost soul or not, no one could be trusted these days. Rebuilding took effort, and rebels were still everywhere, threatening the very peace they were trying so desperately to establish.

Weary, Hermione trudged through the woods. If this _wasn’t_ a trap – which it probably wasn’t, given the magical strength of those whose souls, taken by dementors, had returned to their bodies after the defeat – it could potentially be someone with information for them and their side, and they couldn’t afford to send Harry out like this.

At least… that was the argument she’d given when the mysterious note had come in, surprisingly enough, addressed to her. There was her second argument, and Harry relented, even if grudgingly so.

 

_Don’t make me wait any longer. I’ve waited long enough, watching you._

_I didn’t spend over 5 years in Azkaban for nothing, soulless or not._

__

 

_Meet me at 57º 9’ N 2º 9’ W, in the woods near the large oak tree at midnight tonight._

__

 

_A friend_

 

Hermione stared at the note again. The coordinates led her to Aberdeen, and she’d been walking through the woods for a good half an hour now, and it was nearly midnight, no oak trees in sight.

How was she supposed to identify flora like that anyway, out in the middle of nowhere? She wasn’t, and had never been, an expert on trees, by any means.

She was just about to give up her search when something imposing came into her view. It looked like an ancient tree, going much higher than most of the ones surrounded it. The large oak? She could only assume. Except… that there was no one around. No one at all.

Until she noticed the little shack just a few feet away from the commanding oak. No lights on, but it was worth a try.

Her wand raised, she neared the little shack, trying to see something on the inside, but the windows were too soiled to see anything through the glass at all.

Worrying her lower lip, she knocked hesitantly on the door.

Within a second it was thrust opened, and she felt herself being pulled into the darkness inside, forced up against a wall as the door closed.

“This is a trap,” she whispered breathily, wishing she could move the hand her wand was in, when the fingers clutching her fist shifted and pulled it out of her grip, throwing it into the corner. “Bastard,” she said through gritted teeth.

“No,” came the voice that seemed vaguely familiar to her. “It’s not a trap. For once, the brilliant Hermione Granger got something wrong. Know who I am? Do you have your facts right this time? Or are you seriously trying to tell me that your paranoia about this being a trap came from you blindly trusting the note, and hoping your wand would save you as you came to venture me out?”

Hermione swallowed. He knew her name. And not just that – he knew so much about her, particularly about the way her thought-processes worked. Once someone knew that, they knew how to get to a person; knew how to make them _fear_.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, struggling in vain against the hands that held her firmly against the wall.

“Oh, Hermione, you can do so much better than this. You may think you know… but you don’t. I think it would be in your best interest to ask _what it is_ that I’m doing. Don’t forget,” her eyes were starting to adjust to the dark, and she could swear she saw him smirking, “to _raise your hand_ , Ms. Granger.”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “It’s you,” she breathed. Her chest hurt; she was having trouble bringing air into her lungs all of a sudden. She wasn’t even sure what all this felt like… what she felt like, or what this did to her. Hell, she didn’t even know what she was _supposed_ to feel like in this situation. Her head was spinning.

“Yeah,” he whispered, and she could feel him staring at her. His gulp had been audible. What to make of all this… she had no idea.

“So, what am I here for—“

But he cut off her words when he leaned forward and kissed her with such force – pent-up emotions for years now – that it left her completely speechless when he pulled away for a moment, and she could see his face now – so close, so close – as he let go of her hands, his own hovering over hers for a moment, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, before exploding, it seemed, his hands coming up to cup her face and run one of them into her hair, gripping onto it as he pulled her face forward kissing her again.

“I’m not waiting any longer,” he whispered against her lips as he pulled her robe off her shoulders in one sweeping gesture of his hand, on her waist the next second.

There was nothing wrong with this, she told herself as she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip as she forced away the images of Harry and Ron and what they would think if they knew she was here, doing this with _him_.

Her shirt torn off – buttons flying everywhere, anywhere, his hands on her skin, she let her head fall back against the wood, a shuddering breath escaping her throat just as she felt his hand slip inside of her pants; her panties, touching her, here, there, and _everywhere_.

“You smell intoxicating,” he breathed, and she could feel the hot air hitting her torso as his lips moved over it, slowly, deliberate and careful in what he was doing. “I can’t get enough of you… and now you’re older, and I’m free... and I know I’m no stranger in your dreams, Hermione.” Her name rolled off his tongue like that of a Goddess, and Hermione trembled under the truth of his words. ”I know that my face is only too familiar to your sleep, sweet vixen… I can see it in your eyes… I can tell by your body heat,” he said slowly, letting his hand run over her bare stomach.

“I’m craving, I’m howling, I’m begging, I’m pleading – be mine tonight.” He stared up at her, face and eyes as hollow as ever, but looking at her in earnest it shook her to her very core, and she bit her lip as he came back up, face-to-face with her now. “I’m waiting, I’m dying, I’m wanting, I’m _needing_ … to show you a night where I’ll be touching and holding, caressing and giving you your every fantasy. I’ll get you dreaming and lusting, burning and praying for more of this ecstasy.” He paused, searching for an answer in her eyes. “Set your mind at rest, and let your dreams run free.”

He’d done something. This was no love potion, but a dream charm. But it wasn’t nearly as manipulative as a love potion; dream charms had a way of subconsciously digging their way into your system, into your thoughts.

It wasn’t his fault that she’d reacted to his image in her dreams so strongly.

For the longest time she hadn’t known who the mystery man she so lusted after in her dreams had been… and then things became clearer with every dream, and she learned to love to dream… and then the note came.

There would’ve been no way she would have let Harry go. The chances were too great… and this only proved her theory that he was more brilliant than most, given all he’d done.

Slowly she reached her hand down to touch his, resting on her torso, lifting it up gently, and placing it onto her breast. “I’m not stopping you,” she said, resolution shining brightly in her eyes, recurring visions of her dreams flashing through her head as he touched her, reaching around behind her to unclasp her bra, letting it slip off her shoulders and fall to the floor, shortly before sliding down her pants, pausing for a moment, waiting for permission in her eyes before continuing.

He looked mad as he scanned her naked body up and down before taking his own off so quickly, she wasn’t sure how much he’d even been wearing in the first place.

The next thing she felt was his naked body flush against hers. With it being so dark, her other senses were heightened, and she could smell the sweat he was emitting, could hear both their rapid heartbeats, practically in sync, could feel the body heat he was giving off… when he kissed her it felt different – not just out of passion, but deep affection, and she put it off the thought to be tackled later on, when he entered her swiftly and she gasped at the feeling, closing her eyes as she bit her lip, but he stopped, waiting until she looked at him again, only to kiss her deeply, beginning to move again.

It didn’t take long for him to climax, his hands gliding over her sides as he pushed her up against the wall just a little bit harder with every thrust on his part, Hermione moving to match him. When he came inside of her, she forced her eyes shut, feeling his release pulsing within. He stayed like that for a moment, bracing himself – and her – against the wall as he caught his breath.

Finally he withdrew, and took his own wand from the robe he’d let fall to the floor to clean both of them up. He stared at the floor for a moment, before stuttering a broken-sounding, “thank you,” before looking up at her.

“Harry and Ron will want to know—“

He nodded, expression melancholy, as he pulled on his clothes. “I know. I got what I wanted, didn’t I? Besides, some things never change, wartime or not.” Frowning, he bitterly shook his head as he left the cabin.

Hermione stared after him blankly before mindlessly moving to retrieve her clothes and wand, and, taking one last look around the cabin, apparated back to in front of Grimmauld Place. She would not tell them what happened. After all, there was always the chance that it could happen again.


End file.
